


burnt up, falling down

by lalaland666 (orphan_account)



Series: whumptober 2020 [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Whump (Good Omens), Burns, Comforting Crowley (Good Omens), Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Other, The Fall (Good Omens), Whumptober 2020, handwavy theology for the sake of whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:14:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27021097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/lalaland666
Summary: Crowley awoke to a deafening rumble of thunder, a flash of light far too orange to be lightning, and a sick, empty sort of feeling in his stomach, like something fundamental was missing.Aziraphale Falls. Crowley is there to catch him.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: whumptober 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950676
Comments: 19
Kudos: 110
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	burnt up, falling down

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt “Fire”. noo this isn’t late at all shhh i definitely got it finished on the 14th. 
> 
> Do please note the tags– there’s some pretty vivid descriptions of the sorts of injuries one gets from falling several million light-years at high speeds while literally on fire (burns, broken bones, etc), so please take care. I hope you guys enjoy!

Crowley awoke to a deafening rumble of thunder, a flash of light far too orange to be lightning, and a sick, empty sort of feeling in his stomach, like something fundamental was missing. 

He blinked his eyes open with a grimace, then got up and made his way to the window. London was peaceful tonight– it wasn’t raining, was hardly even cloudy, but in the distance, shining through the faint layer of grey that had coated the city for centuries now, Crowley could see what looked like a shooting star, burning orange and sinking ever lower. 

The empty feeling in Crowley’s stomach twisted, somehow, growing larger, and Crowley gripped the windowsill, squinting up at the bizarre not-quite-star. It looked like… 

Huh. 

_No one’s Fallen in centuries,_ he thought. _Beelzebub had better not call me down to help._ The empty feeling in his stomach lurched, and he winced, looking around. _Wonder who the unlucky bastard is. Maybe Aziraphale knows? Better be Gabriel, if She knows what’s good for Her._

He reached out with his senses, searching for Aziraphale, for that familiar angelic warmth. It had been about two weeks, now, since they’d last spoken, back on the first of October, when Crowley had decided that the world hadn't sorted itself out enough yet for it to be worth it for him to get up. Aziraphale had been awake, though, and maybe he would… would know… 

He wasn’t there. There was nothing. No sign of him. It was like Aziraphale was gone, like he– he’d been discorporated again, or, or worse… 

_No._ Crowley launched himself out of his window, his wings barely snapping out in time to catch him, and sped through London before diving into the earth at one of the back entrances to Hell, one that let out a little closer to the Lake of Sulphur, even as panic flooded through him in great, crashing waves. _No, no, no no nonononono_ no _, it isn’t him. It can’t be him. He hasn’t done anything wrong. It’s not him. It_ can’t _be. Please don’t be him, please– it can’t– even You can’t–_

Crowley reached the edge of the Lake, just as the burning light he’d seen on Earth tore through the cavern’s crumbling ceiling and landed with a splash in the bubbling sulphur. 

“Azir–!” Crowley’s tongue rebelled against him, and he choked on Aziraphale’s name, coughing and sputtering. _If I can’t say it, if his name is gone–_

Without a second thought, Crowley leapt forwards, diving into the Lake, half-flying and half-swimming towards where the fallen angel had landed. He couldn’t know until he saw. There was still a chance. Still a possibility. 

Crowley’s hand collided with something warm and soft and fleshy and definitely not sulphurous, and he grabbed on and squeezed his eyes shut, hauling both himself and the fallen angel out of the Lake. He flew unsteadily back to shore, ignoring the couple of small fires on his own wings, the fact that half of his pyjamas had burned away, the unnatural heat of the body in his arms, the blood, the stink of smoke and sulphur and burnt hair and cooking meat. His feet collided hard with land, and he stumbled, collapsing to his knees on the rocky shoreline, lowering the fallen angel as gently as he could. There was a whimper, a shifting in his arms, and he couldn’t avoid it any longer. 

Crowley opened his eyes. 

An achingly, beautifully, horribly familiar angel lay in his arms, his face even paler than usual, streaked with blood and ash and burns and bruises. His cloud-white hair had gone dark with the soot and the flames, and small fires danced along his blackened, burnt feathers. 

Aziraphale had Fallen. 

“No,” Crowley gasped, laying Aziraphale down properly, his hands flying to frame the former angel’s face. “No, no, _no_ – Azi– Azira–” He choked again, the name refusing to leave his lips, and a sob tore through him instead as he cradled Aziraphale close, tears blurring his vision. “Oh, angel, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry…” 

Aziraphale twitched, his eyes fluttering open, and they were wide and a little too round and there was a strange sort of purplish-pinkish sheen spreading across them, but they were still him, still Aziraphale, as they focused on the face hovering above him. “Cr– Crow–?” 

“I’m here, angel,” Crowley promised, bending to press a desperate kiss to Aziraphale’s forehead. “I’m here. I’ve got you. You’ll be okay. I’ve got you.” 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale groaned, and his unbroken arm moved, a flame-hot hand wrapping around Crowley’s wrist, clutching tightly as his eyes drifted shut again. “ _Hurts_.” 

Crowley felt his heart break. “I know, love, I know. I’m so sorry…” 

Aziraphale shook his head ever so slightly, his grip on Crowley’s wrist loosening. “Not your fault. Not… not…” His voice faded, and his hand went limp. 

“No, no, angel, stay with me,” Crowley begged, petting Aziraphale’s hair, clutching him close. “ _Azir–_ ” He choked yet again, his throat and eyes burning, great, hacking coughs overwhelming him, and then Aziraphale was moving away– no, he was being _pulled_ away, someone was lifting him up, taking him away from Crowley, a couple of low-level demons who Crowley barely recognised, and he lunged forwards, trying to take Aziraphale back, to protect him, but then hands were grabbing his arms, holding him still, and he hissed and thrashed and fought. He couldn’t– he _couldn’t_ – 

“They’re takin’ him to the infirmary,” a voice said– one of the demons holding him, an Eric, and Crowley’s head whipped side to side to see two of them, one holding each arm, and when he looked front again, Beelzebub was standing there. Behind zir, the two demons Crowley didn’t know were carrying Aziraphale further and further away. 

He stopped fighting, staring at Beelzebub desperately, just short of pleading. “Don’t hurt him. Please, don’t hurt him. I know you hate him and you hate me and– but please, _please_ , he doesn’t deserve–” 

“We’re not gonna fucking hurt him, you idiot,” Beelzebub said, rolling zir eyes. “You’re _on the Fall team_. Are you gonna help this time, or just try to discorporate our healerszz?” 

Crowley froze, the words cutting through his panic. “You… I’m still on the Fall team?” 

“You’re still a demon, aren’t you?” Beelzebub asked. Then ze shook zir head. “Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t wanna know. Are you helping your pet, or making usz do all the work?” 

“I’ll help,” Crowley said, tugging his arms free from the Erics’ grips. “And I’m staying with him, too. And he’s not my pet.” 

“I asszzumed you would,” Beelzebub said, before turning and striding off after the demons carrying Aziraphale. “C’mon. Not a lot of time to waste. Not all of those were Fall wounds.” 

Crowley nodded faintly and followed the Prince, the desperate, blinding panic still screaming at the edges of his mind. He couldn’t let it take over, though, not now, not yet. His angel needed him. Aziraphale needed him. And Crowley wouldn’t, couldn’t, let him down. 

### 

_Aziraphale clutched at the armrests that his hands were tied to, his breath far harsher than it should have been, his teeth gritted against the pain._

_“Just tell us what we want to know,” Gabriel said from somewhere behind him, his voice still obnoxiously cheery._

_“You’re utterly mad,” Aziraphale said, and if his voice was a little hoarse from screaming, then at least the Archangels were kind enough to ignore it._

_“This will all be over if you tell us how you survived the hellfire,” Michael said, in a voice that was likely meant to be soothing._

_But Aziraphale couldn’t tell them. He couldn’t. If Heaven knew, then it was only a matter of time before Hell found out, and that would put Crowley in danger again, and Aziraphale_ couldn’t _let that happen._

_“I don’t know how it happened,” he repeated, for what was likely the thousandth time._

_“Yes, you do,” Gabriel said, and now he sounded bored as he strolled around to stand in front of Aziraphale, glaring down at him. “But you’re not telling us. You’re trying to protect that demon, aren’t you? You’re choosing him over Heaven. Over the Almighty’s Plan.”_

_“I rather thought we established that the Plan is ineff–_ oh _!” Aziraphale’s voice was cut off by the fist planted rather abruptly in his gut by Sandalphon, and he doubled over as far as his bonds allowed, wheezing slightly as he struggled to breathe. Sandalphon had managed to hit the edge of one of the burns, as well, which made everything worse, and Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to whimper._

_“Would you really choose him over Heaven, Aziraphale?” Michael asked, her voice ice cold. “You could Fall for that.”_

_It took Aziraphale a moment to recover his breath well enough to speak, but once he had, he opened his eyes once more, meeting Gabriel’s glare as steadily as he could manage. “Then so be it.”_

Aziraphale bolted upright with a gasp, his eyes flying open, unseeing. He had a brief moment of confusion, and then the pain set in, white-hot waves of agony, and he bit back a whimper, squeezing his eyes shut once more, curling into himself in a desperate effort to escape it, to escape the memories flooding his mind, the empty feeling in his chest, the burning, the _Fall_ – 

“Hey, hey, hey, love, you’re okay. You're okay.” The voice was warm and soothing and familiar, and Aziraphale forced his eyes open again, meeting a wonderful golden gaze. 

“C-Crowley,” he said, reaching out for him, and Crowley caught his hand and pressed a gentle kiss to it. “You…” 

“I’ve got you,” Crowley said, kissing Aziraphale’s hand again, and Aziraphale gripped him back almost desperately. 

“You’re _here_ ,” he breathed. 

“‘Course I am, angel,” Crowley said, smiling gently. “Always.” 

“Not… I’m not an angel. Not anymore.” 

Crowley shook his head firmly. “You’re still my angel. Always will be. Doesn’t matter what any of them Up There say about it.” 

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, and then he reached out again and threw his arms around the demon, pulling him in close, and his entire body was shaking and he was having trouble breathing and the pain from his back– from his _wings_ – was making black spots dance at the edge of his vision, but he was with Crowley, and Crowley was safe, and– 

“Oh, look who’sz awake.” 

Before he could think about it, Aziraphale was on his feet, his wings spread wide despite the searing agony of them, and he was standing between Crowley and Beelzebub, memories of Crowley’s trial flashing through his mind. “Don’t– don’t touch him. Don’t hurt him. I don’t care what you want with me, just please, _please_ –” His right leg, his bad one, gave out beneath him, and Aziraphale collapsed with a cry. 

Arms were around him then, thin and strong and steady, catching him carefully, lowering him back down onto the bed, as Crowley said in his ear, “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Ze’s not gonna hurt us. No one down here is gonna hurt us, not right now. We’re okay, angel. It’s okay. We’re safe here. Reasonably. You need to rest. I’ve got you. I promise.” 

“Wh-what– Crowley, you– ze–” Aziraphale’s eyes darted between Beelzebub and Crowley, the panic still gripping his chest in a vice, it and the pain slowing his thoughts to a crawl. How– how had they not been killed yet? 

“What is _with_ you two? You just _Fell_. No one Down Here is gonna touch you or your traitor boyfriend until you’re strong enough to fight back,” Beelzebub said, rolling zir eyes. 

Aziraphale blinked. “What–?” 

“We’ve all... you know. We all ended up Down Here,” Crowley said, sitting down on the bed beside Aziraphale, who leaned against Crowley’s side before he could think better of it. Crowley wrapped a careful arm around his shoulders, holding him close. “We know what it’s like. We’ve got a team for it and everything, healers and all. You’ll get as much time as you need, angel.” 

Aziraphale frowned, looking over at Beelzebub again. “You– _really_?” 

“Falling hurtszz. No need to make it worse. There’s plenty of time for that later,” Beelzebub said, shrugging. “Besides, we outsource most of the actual torture to the humanszz now. They’re easier to replace, and better at it.” 

“Always have been,” Crowley said with a grimace, and Aziraphale briefly remembered a tavern in Seville in 1478, Crowley so drunk he couldn’t walk. 

“So… so we… I’m…?” Aziraphale stammered. 

“You Fell,” Beelzebub said. 

“Well, I knew _that_ ,” Aziraphale said, sighing and then wincing as the motion made his wings move. Oh, that hurt rather badly, still. 

Crowley snorted, then looked over at Beelzebub. “What did you want, then?” 

“Just checking in,” ze said. “I have a summary of the injuries from our healers. Lots of burnszzz. More than normal.” 

Aziraphale winced again, remembering Heaven, the blinding light, the flames– Earthly fire couldn’t kill angels, but it did still hurt like– well. Like Heaven, he supposed. 

“I’ll look at it later,” Crowley said, holding his hand out for the file. 

Aziraphale let out a sound at that, quite against his will, a sort of whine that he immediately wished he could take back. 

Crowley froze, his hand still outstretched and his eyes on Aziraphale. 

“It’s just– it’s– if you do read that, you have to– you can’t do anything rash,” Aziraphale said quickly. 

Crowley’s expression darkened. “And why would I want to do something rash?” 

“It’s– Crowley. Please just– promise me. _Promise me._ ” 

Crowley sighed, plucking the folder out of Beelzebub’s hand and then placing it in a pocket in his jacket that it absolutely should not have been able to fit in. “Fine. Okay. I promise. I won’t do anything without talking it over with you first. Good enough?” 

“You two are ridiculous,” Beelzebub said. “How did _you_ szztop the War?” 

Aziraphale tensed, his eyes fixing on zir, panic flaring in his chest yet again. 

“You done?” Crowley asked. 

Beelzebub sighed. “Don’t ask me if you need something. We’ve got Erics for that.” 

Then ze was gone, closing the door behind zir. 

After a moment, Crowley began to move, half-pushing and half-lowering Aziraphale back down onto the bed. “C’mon, angel, your wings are still half on fire. You need to rest some more.” 

Aziraphale winced again, his hand clenching in Crowley’s shirt. “Don’t– please, just don’t–” 

“You’ll be okay,” Crowley said. “We’re safe. Promise.” 

“Stay with me?” Aziraphale asked, hearing the plea in his own voice and hating it, _hating_ it. 

But Crowley just combed his hair back from his forehead, smiling softly despite the tension around his lovely eyes. “I’m here. Not going anywhere.” 

“Could you... could you lie down–?” Aziraphale began, before cutting himself off sharply. Crowley wouldn’t want– Aziraphale had just Fallen. That was sure to change things, wasn’t it? Would Crowley even still want– 

But then the bed was expanding, and Crowley was climbing in beside Aziraphale, tugging him close, wrapping his arms around him tightly. Crowley’s body was cool, gentle and soothing against Aziraphale’s near-feverish heat. “I’ve got you. Whatever you like, yeah? M’here.” 

Aziraphale could feel his eyes beginning to close again, despite his very best efforts. He pressed his face into Crowley’s chest, curling in close, and the words rose up in his chest again, as they had so, so many times over the millennia. 

But now… things had changed, now, hadn’t they? He’d admitted it to Heaven, to God. He’d Fallen for it. And… and he knew how Crowley felt. Even if it had changed, now, even if Aziraphale had ruined everything… Crowley still deserved to hear it said aloud, at least once. 

“I love you,” Aziraphale breathed. “More than anything. I love you, Crowley.” 

Crowley squeezed Aziraphale tighter for a moment, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. “I love you, too, angel. Sleep, now. Okay?” 

Aziraphale nodded, finally letting himself go entirely limp against Crowley’s side. Crowley kissed him again, whispering into his hair, the gentle warmth of a miracle washing over him as he spoke. “Sleep, angel. And… don’t dream.” 

And then the pain receded, and the world went dark.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so much for reading!! Kudos and comments mean the world to me, I’m not always the greatest at responding but I love and treasure every single one.


End file.
